iTried To Kill Myself
by ArtsyAmyStars
Summary: Sam's been acting strange lately, and when Carly finds out the truth, she knows nothing will ever be the same. R&R! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:**

**I'm back! So here is my first attempt at a trilogy. I know, the title is very depressing, but it's eye catching and effective, even if it is quite dark. This FF takes place when the icarly crew are sixteen, and centers around another character's battle for their life. But this is a little more emotional, and focuses more on the characters themselves, rather than the things that affect them. This is rated R, as it involves coarse language at times, but mostly very dark themes and references. Please enjoy, and remember to review! Constructive criticism too, or I'll make you sorry :3 Na jk, But I still want you to review :)**

**Disclaimer: Yeah...Why would I be on Fan Fiction if I owned icarly?**

**P.S If anyone wants to know why I put this in the Sam & Freddie section was because I think, although the story is told from Carly's view, the shipment is Seddie and Sam and Freddie have much larger roles in the sequel…if I continue.**

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><p>I stroke the back of my hand feverishly, watching Freddie scribble on his notepad. My apartment is quiet, apart from the scratching of his pen and the hum of the fridge in the corner.<p>

It's drizzling outside, as always. You would expect the universe to produce happier weather when teenagers get the day off school. Even a glint of sunshine breaking through the clouds would brighten my mood.

I'm not exactly…upset, or anything. No, I'm just worried. Carly Shay, the one who is constantly worrying about everyone else all the time, and never worries about herself. That's me.

I shouldn't be worried. And especially not about Sam. She's the toughest and most capable person I know, not to mention she has the physical strength of a gorilla on steroids.

Yet, here I am. Worrying about her. Freddie's not worried about her. So why should I?

Maybe it's because Sam hasn't been around here today. And if you know Sam, you know that's not like her. She's usually sitting on my couch, eating month old Doritos and complaining about schoolwork or Freddie's obsession with Galaxy Wars.

But Sam hasn't been here all day. Taking a glance at my phone, I realize how many times I've called and how many messages I've sent. But no avail. I've even called her house (which I would never do, in fear of her mom answering instead of Sam) and there was no reply. I can't see what could've happened!

…But I do know what happened. Yesterday, Sam failed her English final. It's worth a massive chunk of our grade, and Sam totally dismissed it. No matter how many times I begged her to study, she would not listen. She just rammed another fat cake in her mouth and told me to shut up.

Sam usually pulls an all-nighter at the last minute, spending hours with a large textbook in one hand and a piece of meat in the other. Apparently, beef jerkey helps her study.

But this time was different. Maybe she was distracted, or maybe Sam was just too plain lazy to do it, but she failed the exam. And what does she do when she finds out? Samantha Puckett tips her desk over.

Sam quite literally kicked her desk across the room, threw her textbook at the teacher and stormed out. Not before however, pulling a rather rude gesture at our teacher, Mrs. Morrison. Freddie and I exchanged a look, and straight after class, we went looking for her. It was no surprise that she had been intercepted by Principle Franklin and dragged into his office. When Sam came out, she told us she'd been suspended for three days and would have to re-take her English final next year. I'm ashamed to admit it…but I freaked out. And when Carly Shay looses it, she actually LOO-SES-IT.

"_WHAT THE HELL SAM?" I scream at her, shoving her backwards. We're standing in the middle of the car park, and even Freddie looks surprised at my sudden outburst._

"_WHAT THE HELL?" I press on, throwing my hands up in frustration, "You're going to have to repeat the entire English year, all because you forgot to study! We're not going to be juniors together anymore. I can't believe it!"_

"_Carly! Shove off, okay? It's my problem, and I'll handle it," says Sam, clearly exasperated at my lack of understanding._

"_No, you won't handle it Sam!" cries Freddie, grabbing his girlfriend's shoulders and shaking them, "We warned you, and now all three of us have to deal with this. You're going to have to stay behind for an extra year, and you won't be able to go to college with us! What about our plans Sam, WHAT ABOUT US?" He yells forcefully, and Sam gives him an almighty shove that sends Freddie sprawling onto the ground._

"_Shut up Benson!" Sam yells furiously, before reeling around to face Carly._

"_I'll sort it out, OKAY? Calm down, and I'll sort it out. We'll still be juniors, okay? Just…let me sort it out," she pleads, but with underlying anger. I can see something's bothering her, but I'm too pissed to ask her. Instead, I shake my head and storm out of the school gates, Freddie hot on my heels._

I know we shouldn't have left her there. I really do. Something was bothering her, and I should have asked, but I was just so angry! She's put all our plans in jeopardy, not to mention her's as well. But last night, when I was lying in bed, I realized I would have to help her get through it, not matter how frustrating Sam can be sometimes. So when the doorbell rang this morning, I ran to it, knowing it would be Sam. I would hug her, say sorry, and Sam would forgive me before giving Freddie a punch in the guts and a kiss on the cheek for his efforts.

But it wasn't her. It was the post. And here I sit, waiting for a text, or a phone call, the worry plain as day on my face.

Freddie looks up at me and rolls his eyes.

"Stop worrying Carly! Sam's is tough-"

"Understatement of the century," I interject, mumbling. He presses on.

"-Tough, and intelligent. She just needs a day on her own. She's probably lost her phone, and her mum is probably…high? I wouldn't worry Carly, she's fine. Knowing Sam, she's stewing over her actions and trying to figure out how she is going to survive summer school."

None of these words soothe me however. As Freddie turns back to his scribbling, I look anxiously at my watch. Realizing the time, I jump up. Freddie looks up and his eyebrows fuse together.

"I am going to get her, icarly is starting in a few hours!" I say desperately, pulling on my coat before Freddie can stop me.

"Oh for god sakes Carly, this is so-," He mumbles, but I throw him a look, before grabbing my wallet and phone.

"Look, I'll go get Sam from her house. We can meet back here, do icarly, and then we can talk things over... She's probably forgotten about icarly anyway. Knowing Sam, she's still asleep. Tell Spencer I'll be back around five."

Freddie looks as if he is going to say something, but thinks better of it and nods, giving in. I walk from the apartment, in time to see Freddie plonk down on the couch again before I slam the door.

There's a reason why Sam always comes over to my house. It's not exactly…safe, where she lives. It's a really dodgy area, where every house looks like the back of a run down pub, covered in dirt and surrounded by old trash cans. Strange people hang around this area, selling drugs from the back of their cars and making illegal booze and fake passports in their basements. Everyone seems to be hiding under his or her hoods, or shielding their eyes from the sun with the rims of their baseball bats. Hookers stand on corners before climbing into strange cars and pulling their skirts up so high that they could nearly be counted as leather dresses. It seems that there is a constant cloud of darkness hanging over this particular piece of Seattle, and quite frankly, it makes me want to run for the hills. But I'm here on a mission, and nothing can get in my way.

Not even the cab driver refusing to drive up Sam's street because he's too scared. He even warns me in a heavy Irish accent that 'a young lass like yourself shouldn't be goin' into such a dangerous area like that'.

I can't help but agree with him.

I can almost feel how out-of-place I look. Dressed up in my warm winter coat and leather boots, I look like a princess compared to the beggars at every street corner. A hooded figure that walks past eyes me up and down, like I'm a chunk of raw meat. It's really starting to freak me out.

The shops I walk past are all boarded up or closed for the day. Even the "R-Rated DVD," shop, with the naked woman posing in the window, bares a sign that informs me that they are closed for construction. Eying the coat of dust on an aged video, I begin to wonder if it's ever even open.

Finally, I reach Sam's street. At least I can see her lopsided house now, nestled in between an abandoned bungalow and a building that looks to have a bloodied body propped against one of the windows. Shuddering, I approach Sam's house, which I hardly know, but will always remember.

The roof is a rusty red, the tiles barely clinging onto the dirty surface. The paint is peeling away from the sliding on the walls, and the front window has been boarded up, due to three of the panes being smashed. Carefully creeping up the stone steps, I eye the front door anxiously. I can almost smell the cigarettes, which Pam smokes almost three packets a day of. I shudder, before bringing my knuckle up to the door to knock. I pause for a moment…what could be happening inside?

But my worry for Sam overcomes my fear, and I rap on the door. I wait for the click of the lock, and the yell of Pam or the annoying groan from Sam as she stomps over to open the door. But there isn't any of that. There's just…silence.

I wait a moment, before knocking again. Still, there's no sound, and as I cup my hands over my eyes to look in the window, I see there's no movement. But perhaps that's from the large velvet curtain obstructing my sight.

Angrily, I rap again. As the silence stretches on, my panic increases. I have to think up a list of excuses in my head, just to calm myself.

_She's probably out, _I think, rubbing my hands together anxiously, _or maybe she's asleep. _But there's something in the back of my mind, reminding me this isn't like Sam. Somewhere inside of me, I know there's something wrong.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial the familiar number and wait. This time, it goes straight to voicemail. _Right, _I think to myself, tucking my phone into my pocket, _time to take immediate action._

After feeling around underneath the threadbare doormat for a while, I locate the key to the Puckett house. Ramming it in the lock, I jiggle it around for a moment before hearing a stratifying _click. _I take a deep breath, and open the door.

The first thing that I see is chaos. Complete, and utter chaos.

The fridge has been torn from its wall bracket and thrown to the floor, where it lies now, spilling containers and browning vegetables onto the tiles like vomit. From what I can see, there isn't much in there.

The cutlery is spread all over the bench. The plates are smashed, fragments sprinkled on the ground like little, sharp stars. Some of the cupboard doors have been ripped from their hinges, revealing relatively empty cupboards. It seems the Puckett kitchen was the victim of a giant toddler's rampage, and only increases my fear of one thing.

_Looters._

Not exactly an uncommon thing in these areas. And as I begin to realize the reality of my situation, my heart jumps into my throat. I can almost taste the blood as my pulse quickens so much that my heart is pounding. I am so afraid. All I want to do is turn around and sprint back up the street. But Sam needs me.

With all the willpower in the world, I poke my head into the living room.

Compared to the kitchen, this room seems completely un-touched. The only thing missing is the television, which usually nestles underneath the window. This only increases the likelihood of my suspicions.

Creeping out of the living room, I head for the hallway. I'm about to go left into Pam's room, when I hear something.

It's faint, but it's there. Like rushing water…spilling onto tiles. I look up towards the bathroom door, and make for it. The only thing that stops me is the squishing noise that my heel makes when it hits the sodden carpet.

I look down to see a pool of water dribbling from a crack underneath the bathroom door. As my foot sinks lower and lower into the carpet, the water slips into my shoes, filling them with a dirty brown liquid. Panic flips through me once again.

Someone is in there. Maybe they've got Sam! Maybe their holding her down and attempting to drown her in the bath tub. I can see her now, fighting with all her might against a pair of strong male hands. Usually, she would be able to over take them, but as the water fills her lungs, Sam becomes weaker and weaker, the image above her blurring…

I slap some sense into myself. Angrily, I pound on the door with my first.

"LET ME IN!" I yell, before giving the flimsy wood an almighty kick with my heel. There's no response.

Wildly, I look around for a weapon. Anything, anything at all. Finally, I see a broken lamp on the floor and I wrap my hand around the jagged base, feeling it's sharp edges cut into my hand. The burning twist of pain is almost helpful. It reminds me of where I am, and what I need to do.

Again, I try pounding on the door. I scream at the top of my lungs, but obviously they can't hear me or are choosing to ignore me. Either way, I realize that my efforts are pointless. No amount of noise will stop this deranged monster from killing my best friend.

You know when you hear those stories of mothers lifting up cars to save trapped babies underneath? The adrenaline fills them up like a hot searing fire, and suddenly their animal instincts over take them. I suppose they want something so bad, they can just suddenly do it.

While that's how I felt now. I knew, I just knew, that my best friend was on the other side of that door, and she was in trouble. She needed my help. The same adrenaline feeling of pure power washes over me, and before I know it, I'm slamming repeatedly against the door, breaking it down with everything I have. I hit it, I kick it and I back up and launch myself off the opposite wall, smashing into it with my shoulder. I can't feel the pain. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, and the satisfying crunching of wood breaking. I feel my way back one last time, and willing the door to open, I run at it with all I have. Every happy memory I've ever had with Sam was wrapped up into that shove. And I watch as the door comes tumbling down, landing with a bang on the tiles. Triumphantly, I run into the room.

I expect to see a man standing over Sam, holding her down in the bath as she fights for her life. I expect to see a shocked expression as I make my way in, and to see the relief on Sam's face as she realizes that I have come to save the day.

But I don't see that.

All I see is my best friend, lying in a bathtub, drowning in a pool of blood.

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><p><strong>I KNOW, such a dramatic ending. Mwa haha XD<strong>

**I may upload the next chapter, depending on reviews etc. Please tell me if you would like me to continue, and I would like to thank you guys for evening reading this! So please R&R!**

**-**_**ArtsyAmyStars**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey Everybody!**

**I know, I know, I finally uploaded the second chapter. I got writers block with this chapter, and I actually wrote the entire thing, then scrapped it and started again. I like this version much better, and I think it really shows a contrast between the calm and relaxed Carly we see in chapter one, and the crazy and scared Carly we see in chapter two. Carly is very simplistic in this chapter, because she is in shock. I thought it would be a different spin on it, so I hope you guys like it!**

**You know the drill. Please review. Reviews are my food. I crave them. But I love constructive criticism too. It's the drink to go along with my food :3**

**As always, thank you so much for taking the time to click on this story. It means the world 3**

**Disclaimer- I don't own icarly (_Super Sad Face)_**

**Warning- The following story contains dark themes and some coarse launaguge. **

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><p>Paled wrists hang over white polished tile.<p>

Blood dribbles down fingers and drips onto the floor, like melting nail polish.

Eyes, glazed over with tears, roll back into a foggy head.

And screams...ever lasting screams fill the air.

_Who did this to her? Who did this? Who held her down and slit her wrists and left her to drown in her own blood? Who hurt my beautiful best friend? _

_Who did this? _

My fingers fly over the keypad off my phone. Desperate sobs catch in my throat as I shake Sam's arm, trying, just trying, to wake her.

Her chest barely moves. I'm so scared.

"Wake up Sam," I plead, tears clouding my vision, "please wake up."

Someone on the end of the phone picks up.

"Emergency Operator-"

"Ambulance!" I yell down the phone, interrupting the shrouded figure on the end of the line.

"My best friend," I say, when someone answers, "I found her. She's in the bathtub. Someone's tried to kill her!" I cry.

"Calm down doll. Tell me where you are."

I manage to gasp out Sam's address and the woman tells me to stay on the line.

But Sam needs me. Otherwise she won't think there is a reason to wake up.

I slam down the phone and anger fills me to the brim. How dare Sam think she is leaving me?

I climb into the bath and scream in her ear. I slap her face and scream. She doesn't wake up. She doesn't wake up. Why won't she wake up? "

"_WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!"_

And suddenly, sirens. Everywhere.

People pound through the house. Someone drags me to the side as they whisk her into a stretcher. I fight the pair of hands. Reaching out, I cry Sam's name, over and over again.

"Sam! Sam! Please Sam, just wake up!" I cry. I sit in the pool of water on the bathroom floor and sob, watching as they yell foreign things and work over Sam, their hands a faint blur. I feel dazed. Where 's Freddie? Where's Spencer? Why aren't they here?

_Be careful_, I want to yell. _Be careful. She may look tough, but she's soft on the inside._ But suddenly, they're carrying her away. And the fight leaves me. I slump back and watch my best friend be carted away. White hands pick me up like a doll. They carry me to an ambulance. I feel my hands touch the stiff cotton of a white bed. I curl up on it, and look across at Sam. Their shouting things, I can hear faint beeping, and blood is everywhere. But I don't care. I'll never let anything happen to her. I reach across and touch her shoulder briefly, but someone shoves my hand away. So I tuck it back in, and wait.

I just wait.

What else is there to do?

**oOo**

_Gasp._

_Pant. _

_Run. _

_Don't stop. _

_Gasp. _

_Pant. _

_Run. _

_Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop._

I sprint across the car park, following Sam's gurney and the countless adjoined doctors and nurses. They pull her through the doors, and I storm in after them, only to see Sam disappearing down a lime green hallway. I'm about to follow, when someone grabs my arm.

"Name?" a nurse asks, brown hair tucked into a scruffy bun.

"Let me go. I need to see Sam!"

"You can't right now, she is going into surgery. Name?"

I want to slap her.

"Take me to surgery then. I can't leave her alone!"

"I'm sorry, but no. Perhaps after her surgery, and after her parents have arrived." "Her dad is gone! AND HER MOTHER DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT!"

The nurse looks frightened as I bare my teeth, but she soon regains her demeanour. "Sit down right now, or I will have no choice but to call security and have them remove you from this hospital."

We stare each other down for a moment, but in the end, I collapse back into one of the cheap plastic waiting chairs and run my hands through my hair.

"Name?" the nurse asks.

"Carly Shay."

"Patients name?"

"Samantha Puckett."

The questions. They drift through one ear, and out the other. I answer them as best I can. But why doesn't she understand? Why can't we just take me to Sam? I'm so scared. Sam must be so scared.

"Describe how you found Sam," says the nurse. I look up at her.

"She…was in the bath. And her house was trashed. And someone…someone must have tried to kill her. And the blood…there was so much blood."

Everything is so fast. I look at the ground. I'm so weak. The tears are welling in my eyes.

The nurse looks at me expectantly.

"Please take me to Sam. Let me take her home."

My voice won't stop shaking. One minute I want to yell and shriek and rip things apart. And the next, I want to curl into myself and cry. Until I have no tears left.

A warm hand wraps around my shoulder. Perhaps the nurse is sympathetic now.

"Just stay there dear. I'll call you're family."

"Okay," I whisper quietly.

She leaves. I bring my knees up and wrap my arms around them. I'm so weak. I should be in there, protecting Sam. But I'm not.

I'm here.

_Alone. _

**oOo**

Lots of interesting people come into hospital waiting rooms. Sobbing women, struggling men, distressed children. The elderly people who are too sick to walk, and the screaming youths, whose arms have been ripped off in car crashes. The druggies, who took an overdose. And the cancer patients, who are bloodless ghosts.

Gruesome, isn't it? Spend an hour in an emergency room, and see a lifetime of pain.

They must be so scared. I'm so scared.

No one stands out. All accept one.

A boy. Brown hair, hazel eyes, sneakers slipping on the vinyl. He runs across the tiles, and straight up to the counter. The receptionist looks up as he talks animatedly to her. She points towards me.

Me?

_Me._

He turns around. His eyes are so big. And so worried.

He walks towards me. I stare him down. He stands in front of me and he watches me with tired eyes.

"Carly?"

I untuck my knees and stand up. Stare him down.

He wraps his arms around me, a replacement for my own. I tuck my arms around his neck and put my head on his shoulder. The tears fall of their own accord.

Ironic as it is, Freddie has always been my shoulder to cry on.

I think he's crying too.

We must look strange. Two teenagers, holding each other and sobbing. Not that I care. I don't think I could ever care again.

"What happened?" he asks, shivering.

"I don't know," I cry. I'm shaking.

"Don't let me go," I plead. His grip tightens.

"I won't Carly. I promise."

"Okay."

Such simplistic responses. He keeps asking for an explanation. We sit in the plastic chairs, my head on his shoulder. But I can't explain. It's so weird, but it's as if everything has been erased. All that matters is that Sam is safe. Does anything else matter?

It shouldn't.

"Carly?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry. I should have listened."

I don't try to defend him. He should have.

A few minutes later Spencer arrives, panting. He says he had to find a parking spot. I watch him shuffle over and sits beside me. Holding his hand in my own, I feel safer.

"I tried to call Pam. She's not answering."

Freddie answers for me.

"She doesn't give a shit."

"I called Melanie too. She said she's catching a flight home tonight."

"Good."

"I don't have any body else's numbers."

Spencer sounds like a sad child. I look up, and speak for the first time in the conversation.

"You did good Spence. Thanks."

I try to smile.

"Sam will be okay, right?"

Who asked that? We're all wondering it.

Finally, a nurse comes over. She looks pale, and a little sad. I think she's the same nurse from before.

"It's too early to tell. She just came out of theatre, and Samantha is stabilized. However, she is in a deep coma. We're doing all we can for her."

Should I feel relief? Maybe.

"Can we see her?"

"We haven't been able to contact any of Samantha's family members, bar her sister Melanie. If Samantha had any family members here, they would be the ones to see her. But she hasn't. So I guess you three are the best she's got. No one can see her, but you can look at her from outside her room. Come with me."

Spencer helps me stand up. My legs feel so numb.

We follow the nurse to an elevator that stinks of bleach. She takes us past countless rooms, with their blinds shut and an array of sobbing family members outside. Finally, we arrive at a deserted room. I peek through the blinds.

My best friend.

Pale.

Cold.

Screams fill me up_. _

_Take me away. I don't want to see her like this_._ Like a zombie. _

With the machines plugged into her. The strange liquids pumping into her arm. Her blonde hair looks almost frail. And her body is so thin, as if everything has been sucked out of her. Like some sort of sick horror movie.

_Get me out. _

_Please. _

My legs act of their own accord. I back away from the blinds. It's hideous. She's hideous!

Scared. Worried. Confused. Petrified.

I turn and run. Run for the elevator. Run for the door. Run for forever.

Maybe, if I keep running, it'll all go away. My beautiful best friend will be fine. Nothing will have happened.

Maybe, if I keep running, I won't be by myself.

But nothing happens. I keep running, and running. I make it to the broom cupboard and collapse inside it. And everything is still there. Everything is still happening. My best friend is still in coma. Her boyfriend is still sobbing. My brother is still crying.

And I'm still here.

_Alone._

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><p><strong>I think this is turning into a four part story. Sorry about that. I don't think I'm very good at writing trilogies. <strong>

**Thanks for reading! You guys are absolutely amazing 3**

**-_ArtsyAmyStars_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey Guys!**

**Sorry for not updating in ages. I've been really busy, but here is the next chapter!**

**I'm aiming for this story to be around six chapters long, but that number could rise or fall. However, I can confirm that there will be at least another two chapters. Thank you so much for all your wonderful reveiws as well! I have eight on this story, and that's like a record for me. So thank you for taking the time out to write a quick note. Your effort is much appreciated. **

**Seeing as it is nearly Christmas, I hope to upload a Seddie Xmas One shot before the big day, so look at for that one too. **

**You guys know the drill. Reveiw with constructive critcism. Please! It takes me hours to write this story, but half a minute for you to reveiw it. **

**Enjoy!**

**This chapter contains dark themes.**

**Disclaimer- As much as I would love to say I own iCarly...I don't. But I do own the Christmas Ham we're going to be having on the 25th!**

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><p>The air in my lungs feels stale and humid. I take a deep breath, inhaling the stench of disinfectant and exhale slowly out, fogging up a small patch of the window.<p>

Reaching across, I draw a little shape with my finger, and grin as the picture turns into a smiley face. But soon, my little drawing melts, and the beaming face begins to cry as it runs rivulets down the panes.

There's no happiness anymore.

I turn back to Sam's room, and pull my knees up to my chest. It's raining, but you can't hear the comforting pitter patter on the roof, which really annoys me.

The only thing you can hear is a beeping machine in the corner, and the inconsistent dripping noise coming from a bag hitched up to Sam's arm.

She really does look like death. Wrists bandaged up, like she's wearing two clunky bracelets made of gauze. She looks uncommonly weak, lying flat like a corpse on her bed. Her lifeless hair hangs behind her shoulders, and her body appears glass like. So much so, that every time her pulse beats, I am afraid the frail skin will crack in two.

I was only aloud in four hours ago. After they realized that no one was going to show up, they let us in. Thank god, for I think Freddie probably would have head butted the nurse if he'd had to wait another ten minutes.

The shock has worn off I think. But every so often, a crippling pain shoots through my chest as I realize where I am and whose bed I am sitting beside. I double over and tears stream down my face, while I hold my stomach as if it's about to burst. In my head, I yell "_Sam? Please Sam, come back to me!"_

Reaching over, I trace the veins on the back of Sam's hand. She doesn't stir, nor does she respond in anyway. It's almost as if she's dead.

Looking around, I come to the conclusion that her hospital room isn't too bad. I think Sam would be pretty pleased with the TV hanging on the wall, no matter how small it is. The wallpaper is a little sickly, and the tiles are a tad harsh on the eyes, but Sam's never cared much for interior anyway.

She wouldn't be impressed with the bright array of sunflowers beside the bed though. She's never really been a flower person. She'd probably prefer a sculpture made of Fat Cakes instead.

There's a seat beside the window, which I am presently sitting on. The cushions have a plastic covering strangling them though, and every time I move it makes an unpleasant squelching noise. There are two other seats in the room, one of which is occupied. Freddie sits in one, right beside Sam's bed. His eyes host dark circles, whether it is from sleepiness or stress, I don't know. He's got his head on the white sheets, arms tucked beneath his mop of brown hair. I know he's not asleep however, as one hand strokes Sam's palm absentmindedly.

The other Spencer was sitting in moments ago, but he went somewhere. I stare across at the door, waiting for him to come back in. Finally, he returns. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he shuffles over and sits beside me. Delicately, I place my head on his shoulder.

"I just called the school and told them that you and Freddie might not be at school for the next couple of days. It seems Mrs Benson already called and she is coming over here now."

He lowers his head and speaks directly into my ear.

"She seems to have this idea that Freddie will go home with her. I told her that it would take an army tank to drag Freddie away."

I nod slowly, in recognition of his poor joke. I know he's just trying to cheer me up, but I really don't feel like being happy.

We're all silent for a while, until Freddie looks up. The whites of eyes are a deep and menacing red.

"Did you say my mom was coming?"

Spencer nods.

"God damn it," swears Freddie grumpily to himself. He slumps back in his chair, and I can't help but notice that he still holds Sam's hand in his own.

"She'll want to take me home. Tell me that Sam will get better whether I'm here or not. But I can't leave her."

He seems to be babbling incoherently to himself. I stare across at him, the weight of the world crushing down on my shoulders. He glances up at me.

"I just can't."

And of course, I completely understand. Because it's not just that easy. Forget that Freddie's dating Sam. We've been best friends since we were twelve years old. And we will always be best friends. If Sam died, it would be like loosing the third musketeer.

And we would never let that happen.

There's a knock on the door, as one of the nurses pokes her head in. She looks sympathetically at us, pity in her eyes.

"Carly? Carly Shay?"

I raise my hand limply.

"That's me."

"Would you mind coming this way for a moment dear? The police would like to talk to you."

I swallow sharply. Finally. They might be able to give me information about Sam's attacker. Though, I'm expecting they'll want information from me in exchange first.

I stand up, and watch as Spencer echoes my movements. Even Freddie is tensed on the edge of his seat, ready to jump up. The nurse shakes her head.

"I'm very sorry, but Carly must be interviewed alone. You won't be long dear. They just want to ask you a couple of questions."

I nod, and pat Spencer's arm absentmindedly, staring at Sam.

"You sure you'll be okay?" asks Spencer, bending his head down to look me in the eye.

"I'll be fine Spencer," I reassure him, before brushing myself off and following the nurse out of the room. I can feel two pairs of eyes watching me as I leave.

The nurse shuts the door, and I trail after her, down the seemingly endless hallway. After stopping outside a door, she turns and smiles at me.

"Not to worry dear, they're not going to hurt you."

She pats my shoulder, before strolling briskly away. And to think, I expected her to stay. But from the purposeful way she walks, I can see this woman obviously has better things to do than to comfort a mentally unstable teenager.

I let myself in.

A simple metal table sits in the middle of the room, accompanied by two plastic chairs. I look around nervously, and rub the back of my neck. They don't usually have questioning rooms at hospitals, do they? Well, it's no wonder. This cozy little abode looks very improvised, and I can see the faded patterns of hospital wallpaper draped around me. Perhaps this was where they bring the hopeless cases, which can't leave the hospital, in fear that they will emotionally break down.

How comforting.

I shuffle over to one of the seats, and perch on it, careful to avoid pressing my palms on the cold, metal table. As I lean back, the door swings open. An older man enters the room, dressed in a pressed police uniform. He holds a tape recorder and a note pad. Flashing me a brief smile, the officer sits down opposite me.

"Hello Carly, I'm Officer Timms," he says briskly, reaching across to shake my hand. I stare at his white knuckles, and don't receive his greeting.

"Hello," I whisper shakily.

"I just need to ask you a couple of questions about your friend Samantha. I'm going to record everything you say, is that all right? Just so that I can make a proper account of everything."

I nod my head, and watch as he leans across and presses a red button that's protruding from the soft plastic of the recorder. He turns back to me, and glances down at his pad.

"So Carly, how long have you and Sam been friends?"

I smile faintly. I was expecting heavy questions about the state in which I'd found Sam. No, these little questions about our history are fine. These, I can handle.

"I met Sam when I was eight years old, and she's been like my sister ever since."

The office nodded, and scribbled something on his pad.

"And how close are you two?"

I smirk.

"Very close. She sleeps at my house practically every night, and we spend Christmas, birthdays and nearly all of the other holidays together. The two of us do a web show, with our other friend Freddie, and all three of us are really close. Sam can be a little crazy sometimes, and I'm sort of the one that keeps her under control."

"And how is Sam's relationship with Freddie, you're other friend?"

"They loathed each other at the start, and only tolerated each other because of me. But over time, they've become friends, and they actually started dating, which is good."

Officer Timms nods his head slowly, before resting his fingers on the edge of the table and looking directly into my eyes.

"Carly, would you be able to tell me anything about Sam's home life?"

I sigh, and rub my nose anxiously.

"It's not exactly…great. Sam's mom is pretty abusive. She's never there for Sam, not to mention there's never enough food in the fridge. They fight a lot, and I know Pam used to hit Sam when she was little. I suppose that's why Sam is always really angry and aggressive. She just likes to protect herself. It's why she doesn't have many friends."

"And would you say that Pam is a responsible mother?"

I shake my head.

"No way. Pam leaves Sam at home alone for two, three days at a time. Once she left her there an entire week with a just note saying she'd gone out. Sam stays with me a lot. Spencer and I are her real family."

"Do you ever see a lot of Pam?"

"Sometimes. But not lately. Once in a while, she'll drop Sam off at my apartment, or on the odd occasion I go round to Sam's house, she'll be in the bedroom, smoking. We've never really had a proper conversation."

Officer Timm sighs regretfully, before placing his pad and pen on the table.

"Have you noticed many changes in Sam lately?"

I'm getting impatient. What does this have to do with finding Sam's attacker?

"Not really. Well…she did fail her English exam a couple of days ago. I lost it at her, and screamed the house down. It's just, I told her, and told her again that she needed to study, but she brushed me off. She's been doing that a lot lately."

"Acting differently?" he inquires.

"Now that you mention it, yeah. But not like really different. She's just been a little out of it. Not spending so much time with Freddie and I. That's the reason I went round to Sam's place. I was worried because she hadn't answered my calls or my txts. I mean, it's happened before, but I just knew something was up."

"Was Sam awake when you found her?"

I gulp.

"I think she knew I was there, but was so close to passing out that she didn't properly acknowledge it. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was dead to the world."

"And her house?"

"Trashed. Things thrown all over the room, rotten vegetables, missing television. It can only mean one thing right? Looters?"

I look across at him for reassurance. An awkward expression rolls across Officer Timm's face. He looks away for a second, as if debating and procrastinating inside his head. Finally, he breathes sharply out of his nose and turns back to face me.

"Look…Carly, honey. We have reason to believe that Sam…did this to herself."

I freeze. Muscles locking into place, my mouth drops open.

_How dare they?_

"Sam would never do a thing like that to herself! Never! She's not stupid enough. And if she were even thinking about considering it, she'd tell me! I'm her best friend…I'm her sister," I cry, angrily, but my voice cracks on 'sister'.

Officer Timms reaches across sympathetically to take my hand, but I flinch. He sighs, lacing his fingers together.

"Sam's wrists were slit. That's an incredibly unusual position for a murderer to attack. Most stab. Sam was found in the bathtub, an almost iconic place for people to kill themselves. She also had the door locked. You could defend that perhaps a killer had done this, and then locked the door, but you can't lock bathroom doors from the outside, and my team tell me there are no windows in Sam's bathroom."

I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger.

"Your next defense is that Sam's house was trashed, and her television was gone, correct?"

I bite my lip. He took the words right out of my mouth.

"We have reason to believe that Pam may have abandoned her daughter, as after checking her credit cards, we can see that their last charges were in places like Orlando, and Miami, half way across the country. Pam might have won some money, and left her daughter to rot. After what I've heard from both the reports, and you, I can definitely believe that Pam thought her daughter was dragging her down and simply left."

"But that doesn't explain-"

"Actually," he says, interrupting me, "it does. Sam's mother has obviously been gone for a while now, and she's been worrying about it. After failing her English exam, things must have been all too much for her. She might have been considering telling you, but after your fight, she must have felt completely alone in the world and went home. From the evidence we've gathered, Sam must have come home, and took her anger out on the cupboards. With Pam not being home, and Sam not being able to pay for groceries, this would explain the lack of food and the browning vegetables."

I breathe sharply in, and hold my breath.

"Sam must have sold the television to pay bills or for food, but it obviously wasn't enough. Feeling completely alone, she turned off her phone, climbed into the bath, and slit her wrists."

I'm deflated. Sitting on the chair, I was just managing to choke back the tears. The evidence had been under my nose the entire time, but in hope that my fears weren't true, I chose to ignore the blindingly obvious fact.

"It all adds up. The evidence is against your argument Carly. And I hope you know that we would wish nothing more than to find the attacker of your best friend, and send them to jail for a very long time. But the trouble is, the attacker is lying in that bed next door."

I run my hands through my hair. This can't be happening.

Sam should have told me. I would have helped her through it. I can't believe she didn't ask me for help. For guidance. For food, for god's sake! She's never had a problem with it before. It's one of those things with Sam. She never asks for help when she really needs it.

I like to think it's a pride thing, and not that the strength of our friendship is weakening.

Officer Timms glances at his watch.

"Thank you for answering my questions Carly, and I know you have a lot of your own, but right now, I need to be some place else. I'll be back later to interview your friend, Freddie. Stay strong honey," he says, resting a hand on my shoulder before walking out of the room.

I watch him go limply, before standing up, and following him out. I wander slowly down the hallway, in the opposite direction of Sam's room.

The slow walk soon changes to a run, and before I know it, I'm sprinting.

Did I do this? I must have. I fought, and I yelled, and I blamed her for things, when I never even looked hard enough to see that something was wrong. Freddie didn't look hard enough. Spencer didn't look hard enough. We're horrible friends. I'm a horrible sister. I let her drown in her own blood.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This is happening.

_Sam tried to kill herself._

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! If I don't manage to update with my new Seddie Xmas story before Christmas, I wish everybody a fantastic holiday and a wonderful new year!<strong>

**_-ArtsyAmyStars_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey Guys**

**I'll make this brief. Merry Christmas to everybody, I hope you all had a lovely holiday. Here is the next chapter of iTried To Kill Myself, and I've changed the point of veiw because I wanted to focus a little more on Sam and Freddie. Carly and Sam's relationship was in the first three chapters, so we're changing relationship focus now. **

**Warning- This chapter contains dark themes. **

**Disclaimer- Do you think I would really be on Fan Fiction if I owned icarly? Didn't think so. **

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><p>It's late. The hours are ticking by on the clock, and the whitewashed hallways of the hospital are quiet, apart from the soft snoring echoing from some rooms, and painful mumbles dribbling from others.<p>

The only person that can be clearly head is Carly Shay, who at this moment, is interrupting the peaceful atmosphere that has settled on the hospital with her demanding shouts and aggressive sighs. As she begins to rip into Freddie once again, a nurse appears from around the corner and shushes them.

"SHHH!" She hisses across the room, bringing a slim, pale finger to her mouth, "there are patients trying to sleep here!"

Spencer steps into view, and waves his hand awkwardly at the nurse.

"Sorry about that. I think we'll be heading home now anyway."

The nurse nods curtly, before glaring at the two hotheaded teenagers, and disappearing around the corner again. Spencer sighs, and rubs his eyes, just as the two begin to fight again.

"So you knew all along? That Sam had tried to kill herself? And letting me believe otherwise…"

"I didn't know!" cries Freddie, running a hand through his hair, "I only suspected. And I just wanted to protect you Carly, not full your mind up with false accusations that could only lead to more worry."

"God damn it Freddie!" sobs Carly, suddenly breaking down. Her tears are full of fury as she reaches across and gives her friend a shove that sends Freddie tripping backwards onto the tiles. Spencer jumps in front of them before their fight turns into a wrestling match.

"I think we'd better go home now Carls. You haven't been home in 36 hours. You can come see Sam in the morning," says Spencer, resting a soft hand on Carly's shoulder.

Carly is so distraught, she can barely nod as she leans into Spencer and sobs into his old jumper, her eyes red and tearful. Freddie watches in pain as he watches the sight in front of him. A girl, holding onto the world by her fingernails, and barely holding herself together long enough to cry.

"Come on Carls," soothes Spencer quietly, wrapping an arm around his little sister. He glances up at Freddie, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows.

"You had better go home too, Freddie."

Freddie shakes his head, and motions towards the hospital room with his thumb.

"I'm not leaving her."

Spencer sighs, exasperated.

"Come on kid, you need some sleep."

"I'll sleep here then. I'm not leaving when Sam needs me. And right now, it looks like I'm the only person left."

Spencer attempts to glare at Freddie, but fatigue over takes his anger and he nods in defeat.

"What am I going to tell your mom?"

"Exactly what I told you. She's down in the waiting room, and if it's that urgent, she can come and fetch me herself."

"She's not aloud up here by herself Freddie!"

"Exactly the point. Now, if you'll excuse me," says Freddie sharply, before walking staunchly into Sam's room and shutting the door behind him. He watches through the blinds as Spencer's shoulders slump and he glances at the door painfully, before the brother and sister turn, slowly beginning to walk down the hall, Carly leaning heavily on Spencer for support.

Freddie feels terrible about what he said. He knows he shouldn't have said it, and it's hardly fair. They're both tired, and both need their sleep. And Carly, being emotionally unstable, needs some time to rest.

But then again, Freddie's knows he's going crazy, and he's about as unstable as they come, but you don't see him going home, now do you?

Unable to fight the internal battle any longer, Freddie sighs and turns back to Sam, who lies on the hospital bed, lilac eyelids still reflecting the lights that hang from the roof. He smiles sadly at her, and plonks down in the seat beside the bed, taking her hand in the process.

"Hey babe, I'm back. I just had to deal with something," says Freddie quietly, talking to a corpse.

Freddie waits for a response, a murmur, a slight movement, anything at all. But Sam just lies there, still as ever. Freddie attempts to smile bravely.

"You're really stretching me to my limits, Princess…Puckett," whispers Freddie humorously, but his voice breaks on 'Puckett', the tears begin to flow. Unlike the ones that cascaded down Carly's cheeks, these ones slowly roll down their chosen pathways on Freddie's face and drip into his lap, staining his new pants.

He tries to laugh at his own tears, but the sound comes out distorted and broken. He tries to rub away the redness, to no avail. And soon, he sits there, clasping the hand of his cold love, sobbing his heart out.

"Come back to me," he pleads, rocking slowly back and forth on his chair, like a mad man, "please."

Freddie knows that if anyone were to walk in right now, he wouldn't be able to stop crying. In fact, he'd probably just cry harder. And he knows it's pointless talking to Sam, as most of the doctors warn him that she can't hear anything, but Freddie has to try.

Wiping away his tears, he sits up straighter and attempts to talk in a slow and calm voice, that is still masked by his shuddering breaths.

"Listen to me Sam," he says, tenderly brushing a lock of Sam's hair across her forehead.

"Listen to me baby. Come back to me. I'm here, and I'll be here until you wake up. And…and I know that you feel like nobody loves you, and nobody is there for you, but they are. They are! Spencer is there, harebrained and crazy," Freddie splutters, his laughter full of tears, "but he's here. And Gibby is here. I know you don't like him that much, but he's here. And he's better than nobody, right?" Freddie raises an eyebrow in confirmation, and continues when he hears no protest.

"And all your friends at school are here. And T-Bo is there. My mom's here, even if yours isn't. And Carly's here, Sam! Carly. Poor, poor Carly, who is lost without you. How could you think that leaving this world wouldn't affect her? She loves you so much, and you hurt her. Burned her with the state she found you in. But she'll forgive you. Because she loves you."

Freddie clears his throat. His voice is stronger now, full of love, and hope and courage. He feels more powerful than he has in days.

"And I'm here Sam. I'm here. Your nerdy, galaxy loving, stripe wearing, idiot boyfriend is here. And he loves you…I love you."

Freddie smiles, before brushing his lips across Sam's. He tastes her familiar scent on his tongue and sighs with longing.

"And we're all going to be here for you. Forever. And you can stay with us, and we'll help you get through summer school, and everything will be okay again, you'll see. And we'll start iCarly again…all our fans will be missing you! So, you don't need to be afraid about coming back Sam. Because we're all here for you, I promise."

Freddie swallows.

"I love you. Come back to me Sam. Princess Puckett, you blonde headed demon. Come back to me."

And just like that, Sam opens her eyes.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Sorry the chapter was so short, but hopefully the last two chapters will be a lot longer. <strong>

-**_ArtsyAmyStars _**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey :)**

**I know, I'm pretty bad. I've been updating nearly everyday and you don't hear from me for almost six? Well, my reason for lack of updating is this chapter. Ugh, this chapter gave me so much trouble. You'd think it would be an easy chapter to write, but I struggled with it a lot. I originally wrote it from Sam's point of view, but it I decided to wait for Sam until the last chapter, so I had to re write two pages of it. But I like this version much better and hopefully you guys do too. I know this isn't my best work, but I'm proud of it, and although it was a challenge, I feel as if I have achieved something. **

**I also have another note about Sam's character. I know, she seems a little out of it. A little weak as one would call it. But, I mean, the girl just tried to kill herself. I want you to imagine you just woke up in a hospital bed, after an incredibly traumatic experience. Are you going to be cracking jokes at your boyfriend's expense? But, in the next chapter, Sam will be back to her former self...or at least, a ghost of her former self. **

**So please enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. (Super sad face!)**

**Warning- The following contains dark themes.**

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><p>Freddie lowers his head, crushing the tears into Sam's already damp palm. He begins to weep, and he takes shuddering breaths as he comes to the realization that despite the pleading, despite the seemingly magical words of love, despite everything, Sam will never wake up.<p>

Brushing his fingers along Sam's pale wrist, Freddie thinks about what he could have done differently. In not only his speech, but in every aspect of their relationship. Could he have been there more often? Could he have asked about the lingering look of sadness that had seemed ever present in Sam's eyes lately? Could he have just taken one single moment out to think to himself "What's wrong with Sam?"

Freddie releases another broken sob as he realizes how selfish he has been.

As cries wrack his body, and wordless shrieks scream in his mind, he feels the soft hands of Sam's memory running across his head.

"Shhh," she whispers to him, in a dream. Freddie thinks this is strange. He has no memories of Sam ever trying to comfort him. Perhaps it's his mind trying to numb the hurt with an all too real imagination. Another stabbing pain runs through Freddie's stomach and he bites on his thumb.

"Shh," Sam's voice whispers again. Freddie shakes his head, trying to rid the dream. He doesn't want to hear Sam unless it is really _her._

But yet again, the stranger's hands stroke his head, and Freddie can't wonder how deeply into insanity he has fallen.

But these ghost hands seem too realistic. Freddie would almost swear that fingers were running across his messy hair.

And he knows if he checks, it's going to hurt. Because this is just his mind playing tricks on him. Sam's hands aren't really stroking him, she isn't really comforting him. It's just a memory, a sick, sick memory. And the disappointment is going to kill him.

But he looks up anyway.

Raising his head slowly, Freddie's eyes react harshly to the light. As they come into focus, he sees the white, stiff sheets of the bed, and the cords hanging from Sam's hollow form. Running his eyes over her body, he comes to focus on her face. Of course it was just his imagination. Her pale lips stay in the same position, her cheeks are the exact same color, her sharp brown eyes still pierce him with…

Brown eyes?

Sam stares across at him, a dazed and rather drunken look in her eye. Licking her pale lips weakly, she pulls them into a stretched smile.

"Hey," Sam croaks quietly.

_Hey?_

_Sam?_

_She's awake._

Freddie stares across at her, willing himself to wake up. She's alive…Sam's alive.

"Oh my god, Sam!" he cries, jumping up and grabbing her face with his hands. Freddie can still feel the tears dribbling down his face, as he pulls her closer, running his fingers across her face. She watches him, not quite awake, not quiet dead.

"Sam, oh my god, your alive. Sam…Sam," he croons pulling her forward and wraps his arms around her, crushing her into a hug. He doesn't realize he's shaking until the strong hand of someone so weak grabs his shoulder.

"Freddie," she whispers in his ear, as if the name has some new meaning. He pulls back, and cups her face in his hands again. Running his fingers through her tangled hair.

"Don't ever, ever do that to me again!" he sobs, planting his lips to her forehead, still running his hands over her face…trying to memorize the features of someone who was awake, someone who was alive.

"I'm sorry," whispers Sam, her voice ragged. He pulls back, and presses the button beside the bed.

"Nurse!" he says into the speaker, "She's awake," he stares across at her, still smiling, "she's awake."

Sam looks sleepy again, and Freddie is sure she is unable to place where is or what has happened. She feels around with her hands, almost as if she lost the sense of sight and is trying to feel her place.

Freddie rushes forward, as Sam's eyes slowly begin to close again. He grabs her, the room shaking as her head begins to loll back.

"No Sam! Sam, don't leave me again! Sam! SAM!" he yells, holding her by the shoulders now. His voice begins to fade, and with it replaces darkness.

**oOo**

"Well," says the nurse quietly, looking across at Freddie and she scribbles on her pad, "her vitals look good. This sort of relapse is to be expected. Samantha has been through an incredibly traumatic experience. She's not in a coma, but needs rest. The doctor isn't here until 6AM, but I see no point in calling him in if there is no problem. Samantha will be fine until morning."

The nurse nods briskly, as if dismissing herself, as she places the charts back on the rungs of Sam's bed and exits, just in time to miss Freddie's quiet whisper.

"Her name's Sam."

Freddie looks across at Sam and shakes his head.

"I had you, you know. You were back. And now you're gone all over again."

Freddie shakes his head, before resting back in the chair beside the bed and closing his eyes. He feels exhausted, the last two days crushing him under their weight. All he needs is a nap, just to rest his eyes for a second, and then he'd be right back to holding Sam's hand and pleading for her to come back.

A vague thought runs through Freddie's mind, like a pestering bug.

_What if she wakes up and your not there?_

Freddie shoves the thought away. He'll be there when she wakes up. Before he can promise another thing to his wavering conscious, exhaustion over takes Freddie and he tumbles into a deep slumber, plagued with nightmares.

**oOo**

"FREDDIE!" screams Sam, as he watches her drown in a pool of blood. Reaching out to her, Freddie grapples with the vile, red waves, trying desperately to grab Sam's flailing hands as some unknown force drags her downwards, to the unforgiving sea floor beneath.

"FREDDIE!" she shrieks again, and Freddie jolts awake, reaching forward.

"HELP!" shouts Sam, who is twisting and turning in her bed, the drips tangling her in a mess. Her eyes are squeezed into a painful look, and she reaches forward with her hands.

Freddie can't help but think, _I wasn't awake._

"Sam!" he yells frantically, grabbing her shoulders. Her eyes rip open, bloodshot and red.

"Sam, your ok! Your ok!" He reassures her, as she shakes in his hands. Freddie's frightened. He's never seen Sam like this, quivering in the folds of his protective embrace.

Staring down into her eyes, he attempts to comfort her, watching as her pupils shrink and her eyes crease. A tear slips from the corner of her eyes, and strangled sob breaks out of her throat. Freddie's eyes widen in alarm as Sam throws her head back and cries, horrible, deathly sobs that echo around the room.

"Sam! Don't cry, don't cry Sam," pleads Freddie, squeezing into the bed next to her and wrapping his arms awkwardly, trying to avoid the maze of drips. She rests her head into his chest and cries.

Freddie can't believe it. He stares down at his sobbing girlfriend, astounded. Why is Sam crying? She never cries. Never. He can't understand why isn't she asking for food. Why isn't she complaining about his galaxy wars obsession? Why isn't she begging for ham?

Freddie bites his lip as he realizes a simple fact.

Nothing will ever be the same.

Sam's cry slowly begins to die out, as her shudders become the odd quiver.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, clutching his shirt with her hand. Freddie shakes his head.

"Sam, we'll talk about it when you're feeling better, okay?"

Sam nods, barely awake now. Just as Freddie thinks she's asleep, Sam looks up at Freddie.

"Don't leave, okay Fredward?" whispers Sam quietly. Freddie nods, as she nestles down again, just in time for him to catch her lingering words.

"People always leave."

**oOo**

When Sam wakes up again, Freddie is perching on the side of the bed, one leg on the sheets and the other dangling off the side. His eyes focus on the television, watching the morning news play out on television.

The sounds not on.

Light breaks through the blinds on the window, and Freddie blinks at the morning sun. It must be the first ray of hope he's seen in days.

Sam makes a little snuffling noise beside him, and peels open her eyes. This small action is accompanied by a groan. Freddie runs his fingers over her forehead. Sam moans again, and rubs her stomach with a weak hand.

"I'm so hungry," she groans, and Freddie lets out a rough laugh. The sound seems almost alien. Unfamiliar in the world of troubles he's found himself in.

"Trust you to be hungry when you're in dire consequences."

Sam smirks, before looking across at him and smiling. She reaches out and grabs his hand. A small frown line appears between her eyebrows and she bites her lip.

"I'm sorry…about the nightmares. About last night. About everything."

Freddie shrugged, but a sharp pain glided up and down his neck.

"We shouldn't talk about it now. Your too tired."

"I have to talk about it now. Otherwise…I'll never be able to."

Freddie sighs and pushes the button on the remote. He's not even sure if he's ready for this conversation either.

Shuffling over, he sits so that he is right beside Sam. She still holds his hand, but stares down at the faint lines on his, running her fingers over the creases.

"My mom left six months ago," whispers Sam quietly, still focusing intently on Freddie's hand. There is a moment of silence as she lets the words sink in, but Freddie's only reaction is a slight cough.

"I was completely alone. I didn't want to ask for your help, or Carly's, or Spencer's, or Gibby's, because…it's a…"

She seems unsure of how to finish the sentence, still staring at the sheets.

"A pride thing?" prompts Freddie. Sam nods slowly, absorbing the words.

"Yeah. And, I tried to find money. I tried desperately. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. And one day, after our fight, it just became…all too much. I just couldn't bear it anymore."

"It wasn't depression. I don't feel empty. I've never felt empty. I feel crammed with emotions. Of abandonment. Of love. Of fear…of everything. And I was so angry with my mom for leaving. All she did was left a note, saying she was gone and not to look for her. And me being my stupid old self, I didn't even try to find her. I was convinced I could look after myself. But I can't."

"And, everything, it just became a crushing weight I couldn't free myself from. I needed to punish myself, because it was my fault my mom left. My fault I couldn't pay the bills or look after my schoolwork, as well as hold down a job. My fault that everything was falling apart around me. And so, I decided that it was the end. It was my time to die."

Sam glances up at Freddie, more tears running down her face.

"And I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you. I should have told Carly. You would have put out the fire. But, I couldn't. And I'm so selfish. I'm a bitch. But, I hope you know, this didn't fix anything. Watching the blood dribbling down my wrists wasn't like watching the emotions slip out of me. Because they were still there, but if anything…they burned brighter."

Freddie runs a hand through his hair, fighting off the tears himself. Why was everything falling apart around him?

Freddie pulled Sam close, and put his cheeks against her hair. There were no uncontrollable sobs anymore. No shrieks of sadness. Just slow tears, leaking down pale cheeks.

"Damn right you should have told me Sam. It was unbelievably selfish of you to do that to me. And I know you felt alone…and that was our fault. We should have asked, we should have cared."

Sam nods, delving her head deeper into Freddie's chest.

"But everything is going to be okay. We're going to help you through this. We're not going to leave, and you never have to be that person again."

He nods, reassuring himself.

"We're going to be okay."

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><p><strong>Did anybody pick up my One Tree Hill reference? I love OTH!<strong>

**Thanks for all the support guys. The epilogue will be up as soon as it's written. **

-_**ArtsyAmyStars **_


	6. Epilogue

**Hello Everybody.**

**Let me start by apologizing. Again and again. I haven't uploaded in nearly six months now and honestly I have no exscuse. Things have just been so busy and honestly? I struggled with how to write this chapter. There are so many different ways I tried, and in the end, I decided to write it from Sam's point of view.**

**This is definitely a little different from how I normally write. It's an experiment, per say. I wrote the epilogue like this to show how much Sam's character has changed because of this incident. And how despite the show she puts on, she is actually very weak and insecure on the inside. Or at least, that's how I think of it anyway.**

**So here is the final chapter of iTried To Kill Myself. I am literally so happy with the final result, and I am proud of this story. I've never finished a chaptered fan fiction before.**

**But I also wanted to thank all of you. Every single one of you, who subscribed, and reviewed, or even just read. It means so much, and I will never be able to thank you enough. This was just an idea, but now it's my most popular fan fiction.**

**So for the final time on iTried To Kill Myself, please remember to review with constructive criticism :) **

**I love you all, and please enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't, and will never own, iCarly. The only thing I can put my name on is this story. **

**(P.S Listen to Summer by the Afters or Eyes Open by Taylor Swift when reading.)**

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><p>The familiar shuddering of the elevator jolts me back to reality, as I shuffle the strap of my bag around on my shoulder. Glancing upwards, I will it to go faster. Freddie stands beside me, a finger wrapped around my wrist. It's a strange hold, but somehow comforting. I look across at him and he gives me a reassuring smile.<p>

"Don't worry Sam. Nothings changed since you left."

I give him a sharp elbow in the ribs and he groans. I grin, but on the inside I'm shaking my head. Everything has changed and we both know it.

He rubs the point of impact carefully, before giving me a fleeting smile, relief flooding his features as he realizes my aggressive nature has returned.

I shiver in disagreement.

The doors slowly slide upwards as we arrive on the floor of the Shay apartment. I take a shaky breath as Freddie entwines my fingers with his own and gives them a reassuring squeeze. With a deep breath, we step into the apartment.

Immediately, I am thrown into the arms of Carly. Her eyes run up and down my body, searching for scars, wounds, blood. She appears almost ghost like, gaunt and white with worry. But that's her I suppose, always worrying about others and never about herself.

Oh Carly…beautiful Carly, who I'd never meant to hurt. If anything, I was trying to take back all the pain I'd caused her. And isn't it funny, that as I died, I saw her laughing in my eyelids. The way she'd throw her head back, hair spilling across her forehead, and splashing hope across those eyes. Crows feet appearing, and lips curling upwards, her laughter always made you feel better. Maybe that's why Carly appeared when I began to black out. Because, when I was so incredibly scared, so frightened of death and all that it would bring, she brought comfort. She made me feel safe, despite everything. The blood, the knives, the darkness.

As I hug her, I try to let her know all of that. But somehow, I don't think she realizes how much she has done for me. How much she has changed me for the better. Perhaps she never will.

When we break apart, I settle for a smile. As a thank you.

Then Spencer is scooping me up in his arms and I give him an almighty shove, but silently, I'm thanking him. Because Spencer is an anchor, while Carly is a comfort. Despite Spencer's craziness, he is somehow always just there. Standing in the shay apartment, or sitting on the couch, giggling at something ridiculous. Maybe making a sculpture. Always trying to make others feel better. Always laughing. Always happy.

My punch to his bicep as he lets me go makes him wince, but inside I'm thanking him. Inside, I'm crying, because he's saved me. In more ways than one.

Melanie is there, sobbing her heart out. I roll my eyes at her tears as we hug, but for the briefest of moments, I inhale her smell. The smell of roses, cinnamon, and familiarity. Of home. Of mom.

Her tears sting.

Because, despite Melanie's girly stupidity, she's home. She's my family. She was the one who held me when mom was drunk, who cried with me when mom didn't come home still three in the morning, who looked after me when I was sick. I hate her for loving me. But secretly, I love her back.

As we break apart, I roll my eyes again at her sobbing. Her eyebrows link together in hurt, but secretly, oh so secretly, I'm telling her I love her. And that I will never stop loving her. Because she's home.

I suppose home is where the heart is, right?

And then Gibby is trying to hug me, and I'm hitting him over the head and laughing as he falls to the ground. But as he struggles to get up, I reach down and lace my fingers through his. Because he's Gibby. And he's the biggest idiot you'll ever meet. But he makes me laugh.

He makes me forget the pain. He makes it all go away, even for a little while. But he's more than a distraction. He's a safe harbor. When you're with him, you know nothing can go wrong. He stands there, being a total pain in the arse, but I love him for it. For being him.

Because he's the one who gives me foot rubs, and makes me laugh. He's also the one who keeps everyone together, when everything is falling apart.

So as he rubs his head, and I give him a glare, but I'm secretly telling him I love him too, and that he kept us together. Secretly, I'm sobbing my apologies, my thanks.

And then everyone is happy. We're together again. And I'm not dead. I'm not the blood soaked Sam in the bathtub anymore to them. I'm Sam. Plain old Sam, who beats Gibby, and protects Carly, and makes fun of Melanie, and abuses Spencer. I'm the Sam who likes meat, and laughs at the stupid stuff, and tries her hardest to be anything other than the acceptable.

But to me?

I'm weak. I'm slowly dying inside. I'm sitting in the bathtub all over again, slicing through my wrists, and trying to make the pain go away. I'm pathetic. I'm horrible.

Yeah, I'm still Sam. But I'm not me.

And isn't that what's important?

Soon, it's just Freddie and me. Sitting on the landing, staring out at the Smokey city of Seattle. Haze hangs in the air, and it feels like it did all those years ago, when we sat out here and kissed. We were kids. Confused. Our biggest problems were what to put on iCarly next week.

Funny how our problems now are how Sam is on suicide watch. Things change so rapidly in such a short space of time.

Freddie looks across at me, and reaches over to touch my hand. I hold onto it like a lifeline. Like if he lets go, I'll fall and fall.

He plays with the sleeve of my shirt, before slowly rolling it up my arm, to show the scars on my wrist. Fresh, red, bloody. They hurt. God, they're disgusting. They show how pathetic I am.

"Don't," I mutter, pulling the sleeve back down. But Freddie shakes his head, reversing the action and running his thumb over the scars.

"These scars, they're a reminder of a moment of weakness. But the fact that you're still here, shows how strong you are."

I smirk, but it cracks into a smile. An actual god forsaken real smile. No act. No show. No secret meaning. Just a smile.

A simple smile.

Freddie reaches across, and brushes his lips against mine. And I softly push back. Because, this is my way to telling Freddie how much he means to me.

And how much I love him.

How he is the one who stands by me. Who holds me. Who puts up with me. Who loves me.

This is my way of showing how much I love him.

And for some reason, as the sounds of traffic hum in the distance and the smoke floats lazily around us, I can't help but smile against his lips.

Because, for the first time in so long, I feel happy.

And maybe, against all the odds, I'll be Sam again one day.

We'll just have to wait and see.

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><p><strong>I'd just like to thank a couple of people for sticking with this story. ChasingXStarlight, chrissicat12, cherrprn4 &amp; mileycfan4ever constantly provided me with support and feedback. And to everyone else who commented, who gave constructive criticism and basically got me here today. Thank you all so much, you're amazing and I love you.<strong>

**I hope the epilogue answered all of your questions, but I do have a vague idea of where Sam went after this, so if anybody wants to know, just ask.**

**I hope to upload more fan fiction again soon.**

**-ArtsyAmyStars**


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